Not Allowed to Leave
by vigilantism
Summary: The Reeds had given him their allegiance; he could not let them down.


At first, after Bran and the Reeds had split away from Rickon and Osha, the nights were not _so_ cold, and his dreams were confusing. Despite Jojen's urging that they had to get north of the wall as soon as possible, Bran found himself wanting only to return to Winterfell. Of course, he knew that it was impossible; Theon Greyjoy had turned traitor and burned Winterfell. There was nowhere else they could go, and if the men calling themselves Ironborn found them, they would all be killed.

Bran reminded himself that he was still the Lord of Winterfell, even if there wasn't a Winterfell anymore. He was a _grown up_ , not a little boy like Rickon. And the Reeds had given him their allegiance; he could not let them down. He had to find the three-eyed crow and learn to fly. That was all he could do now.

But the dreams were still confusing. He would wake with the taste of blood in his mouth, and long for it. It scared him, though Jojen was not worried by it at all. He insisted that was part of learning to use Summer's body. The running, the _freedom_ , was nice. The hunting was frightening, when he did not quite understand it.

He would wake, in the night or the day (sometimes he could not tell), and his thoughts were jumbled. The thoughts of the wolf did not come the way the thoughts of the boy did. Bran thought in words as often as pictures. Summer did not have words to think in, and his images were sharper, harder. At first, Bran could hardly process them. When he woke, he would reach for the nearest thing to him, in confusion.

Increasingly, that thing became Meera.

She noticed the way he would be disoriented when he woke. She had spent her life dealing with Jojen's green dreams, and sometimes the after-effect of those was far worse than what Bran went through. Holding Bran until he came to himself was easy for her, and it grounded Bran again in his human flesh to have her thin, strong arms around him.

As it got colder, the dreams got more coherent, and Meera stopped having to hold him when he woke up. He found that he missed it, but he was a prince. He was the _Lord of Winterfell_ , and it would not do to ask a liege lady to chase away the foreboding that followed the dreams – or to ask her to anchor him more completely in his skin. It was easier and easier to use Summer's strong body, to run and jump and hunt. His own body was broken, and cold. Without Meera's encouragement, why did he keep returning to it? He was not always sure.

As the days grew colder and Meera returned to the distance she'd kept when they'd met, Bran found himself turning to Jojen for comfort. Jojen understood more of what he was experiencing, at least on some level. To Meera, the whole thing was still more foreign; Jojen accepted things as they came, especially if he had already seen them in his green dreams.

Bran woke one night, some hours before dawn, alone but no longer disoriented. Hodor would be snoring nearby, most always. Meera and Jojen would take turns watching, though Meera took longer turns. She thought Bran didn't know that, but he did. He also knew she did it to save Jojen's strength. Bran, of course, could not take a turn at watch. What use would he be, if wildlings came on? He'd already seen that answer firsthand. In Summer's skin, he was much more useful.

He shoved that thought of his mind, resisting the urge to escape back into the direwolf's body again.

"You are back," Jojen said, from off to his left. The words startled him, and he turned to look for the source of the voice. For a moment, his face looked more like that of the direwolf than the boy, eyes glaring into the darkness as if he would pounce at any moment. Recognition dawned, however, and his face softened again. Bran himself was unaware of the change; Jojen was not.

"You are learning quickly, my prince. But do not lose yourself," he said – half praise, half warning.

Bran tried not to sound petulant when he responded, though he was not entirely successful. "I'm not _losing_ myself."

Jojen stood up – slowly, as if it took some great effort for him to manage – and came to sit by Bran. Hodor snored on, blissfully unaware of the boys talking.

Bran sat up the rest of the way as Jojen sat beside him. The older boy was quiet for a long time, staring off into the darkness to the north, toward their uncertain destination. Bran followed his gaze, but saw nothing there. What Jojen saw, he could not say. He grew bored with looking out at the trees, dusted with their white powder. Instead, he turned his attention to Jojen himself. The lines on the boy's face were much deeper than Bran had thought. Usually he saw him from a few feet away, at best, and it often seemed as if Jojen were even further away than that. He lived half in another world.

They had that in common, these days.

Jojen turned to Bran again, rather suddenly.

"You must not leave us, my prince," he said, eyes grave as they met Bran's.

Bran frowned a little. "I wouldn't," he said, but Jojen was not convinced.

Jojen reached out and grasped Bran's small hand with both of his larger ones. Bran glanced down, surprised by the gesture. Jojen was not a particularly physical person. Meera often put her arms around either of the boys, but Jojen remained stiff and distant, half-trapped in his green world.

Bran had withdrawn so much since his fall, and was no longer very touchy, either. People touching him often felt more like pity than affection, and he wanted none of that.

This, however, had nothing to do with pity.

Bran looked up at Jojen's face again. Jojen's expression had not changed, and for a moment Bran thought he would get lost in the other boy's gaze. Would he be able to see Jojen's green world, then? What would it look like?

"We have risked much to come here, to guide you. You need to learn to use Summer's skin, and that of others, eventually. But you must not let it control you. You must be stronger than that."

"Or the three-eyed crow will not teach me?"

"Or he _cannot_ teach you," Jojen corrected.

Bran placed his other hand over Jojen's. "I don't really want to leave you," he whispered.

Jojen actually smiled, at that. It was a small one, but it was warm. Despite the lack of shelter, and the pervasive chill in the air, he actually _felt_ warmer.

"You should both be snoring away, like Hodor," came a voice above them.

Both boys looked up to see Meera. She had scolded them, yes, but she was smiling the same as Jojen.

It struck Bran, then, that they did look alike on occasion. They were usually so _different_ , in stature and demeanor and really every way, that he forgot too easily that they were also alike. He wondered if he was as like any of his brothers? Probably, though he could not imagine their faces just then, to compare to the image of himself he held in his mind. That was silly, anyway; the image in his mind was still whole and unbroken, so surely it was not an accurate one.

Meera settled herself on Bran's other side. Bran noticed that Jojen had not let go of his hand.

Meera slid one arm around Bran's shoulders. Her hand rested on her brother's arm, and the three of them huddled there in silence for awhile.

"You mustn't leave us either, Jojen," Meera said, so quietly Bran wasn't sure Jojen could hear from the other side of him.

Though Meera was the more skilled, Jojen was still a hunter in his own right. He could hear her perfectly.

"Not yet," Jojen said. Bran glanced over at Meera. Her lips were pursed together, but she did not argue with him.

Almost at the same time, though they could not possibly have coordinated it on purpose, both of the Reeds leaned closer and rested their heads on Bran's. Bran took one hand away from Jojen and rested it on Meera's leg.

"Neither of you are allowed to leave," he declared, louder than he meant to. Both of them made surprised expressions; Bran could feel the way their faces moved against his hair, though he could not see them. "I'm the Lord of Winterfell, and I forbid it,"

Both of them smiled, and said, "As you wish, my prince."

Even if they only meant it for the moment, Bran was content with the answer.


End file.
